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5th ANNUAL FRED COGSWELL AWARD FOR EXCELLENCE IN POETRY http://rclas.com/awards-contests/fred-cogswell-award/

"Fred Cogswell (1917-2004) was a prolific poet, editor, professor, life member of the League of Canadian Poets, and an Officer of the Order of Canada." First Prize: Second Prize: Third Prize:

$500 $250 $100

ELIGIBILITY CRITERIA:  Book must be bound as a book, not a chapbook.  Book length must be a minimum of 60 pages in length.  Selected poetry must be written in English by a single author.  Book must be original work by the author (translations will not be considered at this time)  Original date of publication falls between January 1, 2017 and December 31, 2017.  Book must be published in Canada.  Book must be written by a Canadian citizen or permanent resident alive in submission year.  Electronic books are not eligible. In case of dispute about the book’s eligibility, the Society’s decision will be final. Miranda Pearson is the judge for our 2018 Fred Cogswell Award For Excellence In Poetry.

Reading Fee: $25 (all funds Canadian). Payment can be made through PayPal (there is a link below) or by money order (payable to “Royal City Literary Arts Society”). If you pay with Paypal, please include a copy of your receipt with the submission package. Two copies* of the book must be submitted to the Royal City Literary Arts Society, along with the reading fee (or proof thereof), and must be postmarked no later than October 1, 2018. The society’s mailing address is: Royal City Literary Arts Society Fred Cogswell Award Box #308 - 720 6th Street New Westminster, BC V3L 3C5

Shortlist will be announced Oct 15, 2018. Winners will be announced Nov 1, 2018.

Winning authors & titles will be included in the December issue of RCLAS’s Wordplay e-zine. *Submitted books will not be returned; they become the property of the Royal City Literary Arts Society.


FOR MORE INFO CLICK

HERE


Write On! Contest 2018 Poetry Winners & Honourable Mentions


5th Annual RCLAS Write On! Contest 2018 Poetry First Place Winner Jude Goodwin There I was again writing urgently about the rain as if it would ever stop or change somehow into something ordinary like brushing ones teeth or filtering the cat litter through a slotted scoop. Truth is, if you walk outside and water falls from the sky that's pretty amazing. Or a breeze filled with petals from the cherry tree on Eagle Run, or once what sounded like hail turned out to be thousands of green caterpillars dropping from the sky onto our fibreglass porch cover. One long weekend in May a few years back it was ash that fell, covered everything and pretty much ruined the summer. I read about a man in Alaska driving along at night when a moose fell from the sky onto the road in front of his car. Well it's not really falling though is it. More like an elemental joining


of things above with the things already below. Even light wants to be here It clings to the raindrops looking for weight. If you walk outside and water falls from the sky and someone kisses you that can be amazing and elemental and probably the cells of a thousand poems will slough off and fall to this extraordinary earth.

Watch on Youtube : https://youtu.be/fpMx8vy2Hlg


5th Annual RCLAS Write On! Contest 2018 Poetry Second Place Winner Andrew Lafleche enclosure the chimpanzees drag their knuckles behind scabbed asses they pick up objects: lettuce, a red ball, the dump off a toy truck with darkened eyes staring upward to where people stand gazing down the elephants fare no better, knees calloused, trunks sagged, hides branded with stars; at home in a sand lot, withering trees, an electrical fence encasing the perimeter the cheetahs are hiding the lion exhibit is closed the jaguar lies lethargic on a concrete slab in a near hidden corner of her enclosure the zebras birthed a foal; it tries to walk and falls, what luck, birthed, for pleasure


the tigers pace their fence barrier in step the larger one, skin bursting with muscle, wants to fuck, bad the female tigris, the smaller one, moves counter to his aggressions, clockwise time is ticking, they strut their words time is ticking.

Video of Andrew’s winning poem read by judge Sylvia Symons: https://youtu.be/dBN445WRQuU


5th Annual RCLAS Write On! Contest 2018 Poetry Third Place Winner Angela Rebrec When His Voice Resounds, He Holds Nothing Back Under a strangled canopy of dogwood and chokecherry she retreats into the garden along the house’s north side, prays among hosta and autumn fern. Knees yield to mossy lawn, more mud than lushness. [Be thou enshrouded in darkness] Weeds grow thin like Ephesian wives; they could burst through loam if only they could draw strength in pure sunlight. The house's shadow falls slanted. Even the crocuses half-bloomed and then buckled. [She waits for the Voice from the whirlwind] Memory remembers quiet: creeps slowly through the grass. Sunshine taps on leaves, searches for cracks to squeeze past. She prays, huddled outside their house, where his words are not physics, where he cannot enlist God's heavy fist as laws of motion. [Silence becomes language]
 She opens her eyes—behold, all that He has in your hand— witnesses a silver thread weave stitches across her folded hands, wisdom of slowness, snail labours over knuckle and flesh his pearly home ablaze in the shade like a beacon. [Light comes into this world]


Beside the blooming verbena, where a child may pick its white flowers, she rises from under the heavy foliage, intaglio of knees imprinted in damp moss and walks out from under the shadow.

Watch on Youtube : https://youtu.be/Spa_zVIGwaU


5th Annual RCLAS Write On! Contest 2018 Poetry Honourable Mention Alex Hamilton-Brown As We Were When I think of how we were as children, familiar with mysteries and absolutes: finding fossilized fish imprinted on rocks, like spells from another time; smelling the fragrance of Bluebell Wood, and tasting the stock-ends of flowers that slithered on the tip of the tongue; trekking over moors to test our endurance, whistling a part from The Pastoral to test our musical memory; how skylarks rose before us, wittering and twittering in the air, like quivering puppets on invisible strings; and our presence so anxiously felt by a peewitting plover pretending a broken wing; and the finite acceptance of death as we passed the corpse of a sheep, still reeking from an unforgiving winter; how on stormy days we stayed indoors, each taking turns to read aloud from A Century of Ghost Stories, with lights dimmed low.


5th Annual RCLAS Write On! Contest 2018 Poetry Honourable Mention Barbara Carter love in chains on the beach I carry inside me a chain of six billion nucleo tides given to me by my parents (Clarence and Dorothy) wrapped up in twenty three pairs of chromosomes still dancing in a spiral long after they are gone still living still twirling still manifesting still dictating still counting still inside me and although I mourn them every one of my days and no longer hear a laugh, no longer see a gleam in the eye and still see them reflected in a window as I pass and in the way my son turns his head they are tucked inside me safe from harm laughing and gleaming you see I’ve passed this chain along and it will coil long into the future reaching forward from when we climbed out of the ooze


(a past incomprehensible to my mind but alive in my body) spiraling in a dance of love on the sands of Semiahmoo Bay other iterations of this same chain play Frisbee, build sandcastles, gather shells this chain will dance into infinity never once repeating the same pattern Clarence and Dorothy immortalized in a plaque by the train station and in all of us playing on the sand


5th Annual RCLAS Write On! Contest 2018 Poetry Honourable Mention Ruth Hill The Rainforest Matrix Dark twigs dangle ghostly aerial moss mysterious as a Bayou backwater Aromas seduce: cedar, compost, and salt mist A precocious piccolo calls you like the Pied Piper further into the forest The Northwest Rain Forest is a matrix you enter like a surfer entering the green glass tube who never comes out again The nether world appears benignly changing your alignment The calling of the birds from dawn to dusk never ceases one so ecstatic he keeps calling after dark The symphony of ocean, wind, and trees echo in your mind forever Green mosses become your dress Crashing waves make the rocks tremble Your guts will rumble; your blood will slosh Your legs will tumble on slippery seaweed From now on your legs are made of rubber and sidewalks will seem strangely firm In the Longhouse, Alfred does the Raven dance


The next day we cannot stop him from clacking and gargling We try not to be seen by the stick people* We who play with animal spirits have not lost our humanity we have found they informs us, a tremolo from within We welcome approaching storms sitting on boulders eating beach peas and snails splashing on paddle logs, playing with otters We dive under spawning herring and open our mouths Ecstasy, euphoria erase our former lives Oh, look! The whales are scratching off their barnacles stretching in the sunshine, breathing the air Some things I can’t tell you; you’d never believe me I am calling you from the understory like the piccolo bird You’d have to come in here … further … to see

* stick people live in short bare trees and do not understand the rainforest


2018 RCLAS Write On! Contest BIOS: Poetry Winners & Honourable Mentions Jude Goodwin’s poems and prose have been published in journals and anthologies including Burnside Review, CV 2, Comstock Review, White Pelican Review, Cider Press Review and Eclectica Magazine. Her poems have won or placed well in the IBPC: New Poetry Voices competition, and have been shortlisted in the CBC Radio Literary Awards. Jude is a founding member of the Squamish Writers Group and founder and co-editor of The Waters, an online poetry workshop. Recently she founded the Sea to Sky Review, an online literary journal for the BC Lower Mainland and Sea to Sky Corridor. Jude is currently pursuing a degree in Creative Writing with Douglas College, BC, Canada. Jude’s first book of poetry, The Night Before Snow, will be available in September 2018.

Andrew Lafleche is a poet, author, and journalist. His work covers topics such as spirituality, drugs, promiscuity, and alcohol, while using a spoken style of language to blend social criticism, philosophical reflection, explicit language, and black comedy. Andrew enlisted in the Canadian Forces in 2007 and received an honourable discharge in 2014. He is the recipient of the 2016 John Newlove Poetry Award. His work has appeared in The Daily Observer, Bywords, Snapdragon, The Manhattanville Review, The Poet’s Haven, Lummox Press, CommuterLit, Raven Chronicles, Havik, and various other national and international publications. Visit www.AJLafleche.com or connect with Andrew on Twitter: @AndrewLafleche. Angela Rebrec’s writing had appeared most recently in EVENT magazine, Prairie Fire, Grain, The Antigonish Review and Pulp Literature. Her work has been shortlisted for several awards and contests including PRISM International’s Non-fiction Contest. She holds a degree in creative writing from Kwantlen Polytechnic University (Surrey, BC) and currently facilitates weekly writing workshops with elementary-aged children. She lives in Delta, BC with her husband and three children on unceeded Coast Salish lands.


2018 RCLAS Write On! Contest BIOS: Poetry Winners & Honourable Mentions Born in Stirling, Scotland, Alex Hamilton-Brown joined Pathe Films in London as an editor. He advanced to become a producer/writer of historical documentaries for British TV, CBC, and the Discovery Channel; winning many major awards along the way. Alex's first book of poetry was sold out within the first three months of publication. Many of the poems won top honours in competition. Currently, he is writing a historical novel about Edward II.

Barbara Carter was drawn to White Rock in 1984 because of its arts community and its seaside location. Born in Toronto she has lived across Canada, from Nova Scotia through Quebec and Ontario, finally finding a home on the west coast. She is a part of the extensive network of writers on the Semiahmoo Peninsula and as well as continuing to create poetry, some of her poems having won awards, she is presently working on a memoir, Growing Up Army, as well as collaborating on several projects fusing poetry with the visual arts and jazz. Barbara is an arts advocate, serving as a director with both the Semiahmoo Arts and Plein Air societies, an arts educator, both in private practice and as principal of two award-winning integrated arts B.C public schools for two decades. A musician, mother, lover of all things creative, and coddler of two little white dogs, she rises every day with anticipation and curiosity. She is never disappointed.

Ruth Hill was raised in upstate New York, and traveled North America extensively. She spent 5 years living entirely off the grid, sailing the west coast of British Columbia. Ms. Hill became a Light Station Keeper, a Logging Appraiser, and a Certified Design Engineer. Over 330 of her works have received awards or publication in the US, UK, Canada, Israel, Australia, and online. Ruth has won 1st prizes in Gulf Coast Ethnic & Jazz Poetry, Heart Poetry, Lucidity, Poets for Human Rights (twice!), and Writers Rising Up! environmental poetry.


2018 WRITE ON! CONTEST COMMENTS FROM OUR POETRY JUDGE SYLVIA SYMONS Poetry Contest Winners First Place: Jude Goodwin – There I was again Second Place: Andrew Lafleche – enclosure Third Place: Angela Rebrec – When His Voice Resounds, He Holds Nothing Back Poetry Honourable Mentions Alex Hamilton-Brown – As We Were Barbara Carter – love in chains on the beach Ruth Hill – Rainforest Matrix First Place There I was again by Jude Goodwin I love the plain-spoken, conversational tone of this piece and how quickly it moves from the mundane to the extraordinary. The images of caterpillars (and then moose!) falling from the sky are vivid and startling. Everything in this poem wants its presence known, right down to the "light cling(ing) to raindrops, looking for weight." Second Place enclosure by Andrew Lefleche Like the tiger pacing its cage, this poem is "bursting with muscle”…a zoo of suffering animals, a planet in an uneasy relationship with time. The allegory in this poem is blunt and complete. The writer takes us firmly by the arm to show us something we don't want to see. But we can't look away. Third Place When His Voice Resounds, He Holds Nothing Back by Angela Rebrec I love how this poem brings snippets of formal, Biblical language to an unimpressive patch of plants on the north side of a house. The writer has a sharp ear for acoustics as a woman "prays among hosta and autumn fern." The tightpacked garden is perfectly reflected in the dense, rich language of this piece. - Sylvia Symons


Write on! Awards: an afternoon of winning stories and poems. Left to Right: nd 2 Place Fiction: Chelsea Comeau, 3rd Place Poetry: Angela Rebrec, Fiction HM: Tatjana Mirkov-Popovicki, 2nd Place Non-Fiction: Angela Post, 1st Place Poetry: Jude Goodwin, Fiction HM: H.W. Bryce, Non-Fiction HM: (SheLa) Nefertiti Morrison, Non-Fiction HM: Joyce Goodwin, Fiction Judge: Clara Cristofaro, Host: Janet Kvammen, RCLAS Vice-President, Host: Nasreen Pejvack, RCLAS President, Poetry Judge: Sylvia Symons.


First Place Award Winner Jude Goodwin reads her poem, “There I was again”.

Watch on Youtube : https://youtu.be/fpMx8vy2Hlg 2018 Write on! Contest Awards event held June 9 at Anvil Centre.

Third Place Winner Angela Rebrec reading “When His Voice Resounds, He Holds Nothing Back”. Thank you to our poetry judge, Sylvia Symons. Watch on Youtube : https://youtu.be/Spa_zVIGwaU


June 23, 2018 Visual Verse: where poetry brings art to life A Royal City Literary Arts Society and New West Artists Collaborative Event showcasing ekphrastic poetry, featuring 17 poets paired with 17 artists. A well-attended Opening Reception and Poetry Reading, held at the Network Hub, River Market, New Westminster. Please visit New West Artists website www.newwestartists.com You can also find NWA on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.

Thanks to the Video Guy Ken Ader and Michael Kvammen Visual Verse Youtube Playlist https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL97yrIHWs_bSg_5zfniKnD0vHcXWJdzsW


The Great New West “POLO” Match

CANDICE JAMES Poet Laureate Emerita, City Of New Westminster, BC “THE SAILING OF THE PURPLE” 20” x 16” Acrylic on canvas www.candicejames.com


There Can Not Be Light © Alan Hill, Poet Laureate, City of New Westminster, BC written for “THE SAILING OF THE PURPLE” by artist Candice James, Poet Laureate Emerita, City of New Westminster, BC When your time comes, hold your head up Fight it, the pull of its restraints, its prod towards, fire, water, earth, the heavy-handed kick organ twist. Then when you must, you have nothing left let it take you, there is not a choice. No ticket, luggage, flesh, required. No bank account, tax numbers, lovers, your children needed. Its budget class, no on-board entertainment, food. Nothing you have ever loved, cared about will matter then. You must leave it all. You know it. There cannot be light without dark. All that beauty, purple, yellow, limitless blues, cannot matter without the sails that pin it all in place. The ships wait back from other worlds, unimaginable continents their holds are empty, swept, ready.


BETTEANNE WILSON “BLUE FEATHER” 6” x 12” Beadwork ibeadandcreate@gmail.com


Cherokee Feather, Cherokee Night © Julia Schoennagel written for "Blue Feather" by artist Betteanne Wilson blue oil slick beads white shiny tiny pearls … a feather feather of wisdom feather of flight Cherokee feather Cherokee night my brother the corn my sister the wheat high as the turquoise sky you reach ciphers of the seasons' cycle live and grow and stand beside me protect, provide feed and hide me blue-black backdrop of pearly slick sky opaque translucent colour lined drops … Cherokee morning chase away Cherokee night Great Spirit in me Great Spirit in all Great Spirit will lead me Great Spirit will call We n’ de ya ho We n’ de ya ho We n’ de ya, We n’ de ya, ho, ho, ho, ho. He ya ho, he ya ho, ya ya ya ** ** "Music for the Native Americans" - Robbie Robertson - 1994 - Cema/Capitol 28295 The lyrics of The Cherokee Morning Song are simple. I am of the Great Spirit, It is so. I am of the Great Spirit. I am of the Great Spirit. It is so. Wi Na De Ya Ho.


PERI-LAINE NILAN “I DREAM OF GREEN” 24.5" x 30" Framed Acrylic on Canvas


I Dream of Green © Janet Kvammen written for “I DREAM OF GREEN” by artist Peri-Laine Nilan Here within dark shadows, I dream of green; Into her forest, I drift unseen. A flourish in colour the voice of Emily Carr heard as cathedral song whispering majesty afar In shades of glistening tears I pray in green on Cascadia’s earthly altar dewdrops faded sheen The Ancients carved the way The path woven, truth sublime Spirit home Haida Gwai Gaia divine, cloaked in time Cast into cedar magic spells her name calling us back to once was the same In wild emerald grace rising mist of loden haze still dark water, rites of passage I am witness to the birth of days Beyond the jungle we rise draped in moss— a touch farther than sky words at a loss Here within dark shadows, I dream of green; Into her forest, I drift unseen.


STEPHEN HOLMES “MOUNTAIN MAJESTY” 16” x 20” Acrylic on canvas holmess@telus.net IG @sherlock_creations


Majestic Mountains © Nasreen Pejvack written for “MOUNTAIN MAJESTY” by artist Stephen Holmes Earth’s first residents, here from the earliest of days tall and proud, spectator to slow changes, growth, life and death Sun’s first light kisses their peaks, warmth, inspiration for activating a new day life thriving in its valleys, lakes and rivers Snow melts from their shoulders, water runs through their valleys, spreading vegetation life proliferates throughout the domains of these Majestic Mountains They have hosted many aspirants, conquering their peaks encouraging romantic lovers providing pathways for tribes passing through from all walks of life mingling, unwinding, re-energizing fighting, killing rebirth, regrowth Majestic Mountains Days become busy with Love, life, death, reproduction Competition and fighting Perhaps some rare contemplation Sun, the effortless promise, rests behind the mountains for another night then returns with the hope of positive changes despite witnessing from the dawn of humanity wars serving the main course for the day spectacle for an indifferent crowd the intelligent species still too young to comprehend complications created Majestic Mountains stay strong, stand tall and proud, worthy frown on catering to ego pity the young humanoid


KEVIN JORDAN “SISTERHOOD” 18” x 24” Acrylic on canvas www.artbyjordie.com artbyjordie@gmail.com


Sisterhood © Lozan Yamolky

written for “SISTERHOOD” by artist Kevin Jordan Four pointes. Four brilliant colours. Four romantic ballerinas. Four determined young women sharing one bond, one path and one race —the human race. Four angels floated across the stage as delicate as butterflies floating —wingless. Soft and strong; precise and flawless, the music moved them effortlessly as if it was a language only they could understand and interpret into orchestrated movements. A bond and a promise to remain truthful to one another, honour and lift each other and love each other like sisters displayed in the most majestic form of art —the ballet. Each one of the beauties adorned in astonishing apparels and moving brilliantly with poise and class. Each one of them overcoming enormous obstacles, defying the odds —united and standing tall teaching others to be courageous in the face of adversities. This is the pledge of sisterhood!


TERESA MORTON “BOLERO” 30" x 40" Acrylic


The Vessel © Hope Lauterbach written for “BOLERO” by artist Teresa Morton She is a vessel filled with grace buoyed by music, carried far away She is a vessel navigating the stage uncharted truths ebb and flow like waves She is a vessel bound to the sea seeking perfection, the horizon just out of reach


JULIE EPP “DAFFODILS” 18” x 24” Acrylic and gold leaf on panel theinkyatelier@gmail.com IG @theinkyatelier


Daffodils © Una Bruhns written for “DAFFODILS” by artist Julie Epp Last night I dreamt of running barefoot through a golden meadow of daffodils, that seemed like Moses, had waved his magic wand and parted a sea of waving daffodils. Wind blowing through my hair, exhilarated by the splash of sunshine after the long dark days of winter. I inhale wild lavender, see cottonwood clinging to blades of grass like fallen snow. In passing between, rows, of dancing daffodils bumble bees, float silently flirting, dipping, diving, between golden headed daffodils, and buttercups, gathering early pollen and sweet nectar dripping from hearts of these lovely ladies, in woodlands, meadows valleys, savanna, mountain tops, and rocky places. The daffodil, a generic flower, is like life itself standing tall, and wondrous bringing joy, in early spring, but all too soon summer solstice trumpet sounds, leaving the goldilocks daffodil drooping, in the chill dewdrops dripping in solitude now just and echo of the beauty of spring. She bows her head in gratitude, as butterflies, humming birds, and lady beetles bid her farewell. Filled with hope of rebirth and anticipation in welcoming back the bumble bee, next spring before returning back to the soil from whence she came.

Quoting William Wordsworth: “For oft, when on my couch I lie, in vacant or in pensive mood, they flash upon that inward eye, which is the bliss of solitude, and then my heart with pleasure fills and dances with the daffodils.”


LAVANA LA BREY "TODAY IS GOING TO BE AWESOME" 16" x 20" Mixed Media & Acrylic lavanalabrey6@gmail.com


Resilience Š Annette LeBox written for "TODAY IS GOING TO BE AWESOME" by artist Lavana La Brey She wears black boots of faux leather, Six-inch heels weaponized for combat. The bar stool beckons. Her doppelganger perches there, Looking wary, whispers bad thoughts In her head. Nothing lasts, she says. Resilience is a book without words. Our tongues learn to speak a new language. A dialogue for resistance. We are survivors not victims. Mothers, daughters, sisters, wives. We rise like warm bread and march, Hungry for hope and reckoning. Listen to the voices of the dead, Their spirits lodge within us. Ghosts of missing and murdered Women float above highways, Carrying small packs slung over green bones. Lost generations share stories. Bounce back from adversity, Multiply in stony ground. Oh heart, it is spring when Forget-me-nots grow wild And unruly in damp earth. I’ve seen flowers grow in cracks Of parched pavement, Buried seed heads burst into bloom. Take a deep breath. Romance yourself with roses. Today is going to be awesome.


KIRSTIN SHAW “PORTAL” 18"x 36" Oil pastel /paper collage on canvas


Portal Rippling © Deborah L. Kelly written for “PORTAL” by artist Kirstin Shaw We look ahead, portal rippling with varied hue. Dimension surrounds dimension as petals of colour spread, bleeding through non-existent lines; flowing between worlds which, when joined, are one entity. Step up, step through; each hue resonating in the echo of truth. Fly through spheres of light and music, closer; becoming a part of inner fluid movement as I breach the rippling to step out of the echo, ... repeat ... repeat ... repeat ... into a mysterious, and radiant new world.


VALERIYA ZHMAK “THE LITTLE PRINCE” 20cm x 30cm Acrylic on canvas IG @lerapaints


Little Prince © Ashok Bhargava written for “THE LITTLE PRINCE” by artist Valeriya Zhmak tired soul leans on rippled calmness animals flowers sooth uncertainties pulsating colours chase fears away from the innermost dreams light defines forms of hope in the arms of aspirations plodded on paths unknown to paces show where destiny leads beyond the bend of unknown journey during a lonely pursuit


HANNA-BARBARA BERWID "I SEE YOU....." 16" x 20" Acrylic & Oil on canvas


I see you . . . you see I © Alan Girling written for "I SEE YOU....." by artist Hanna-Barbara Berwid To be an eye, to stare so fixedly, unrelenting, not merely fish-dead, an iceberg dilator quivering. It penetrates—just what I want, apparently, a natural, naked gaze that reaches the heart-weeds, sees what needs to be seen: undergrowth of fear, this and that mortal whimper; bramble of unsought memory; the shame I shovel into the holes I harbour. O aperture of an unblinking sun, train the gun on the prize; don’t scathe the dragon blind. Your caustic beam is surgical; it will amputate, then cauterize. And as I walk through this sliver of world I occupy— dream, embrace, toil— you may, in your heat, heal, then even, bind.


ALICJA DRAGANSKA “CELESTE” 14” x 18” Oil on canvas


feed your own birdsong © Celeste Snowber written for “CELESTE” by artist Alicja Draganska hands, wings and burgundy trace the infinite creature to creature dove to woman worlds within worlds silence beyond noise streets and pigeons gatherings of bird saints longing for crumbs a hunger remains morsels for the soul to feed our own birdsong here our naming begins nature inside all beings touching plumage in daylight stopping time in the open where feet meet cobble intimacy takes flight sit in the arrival of today’s palette notice what calls to you hear small beauties through gestures of dailiness dance into the parentheses of life in front of you waiting for a feeding.


EILEEN PICK

“HIKING ALONG THE COQUITLAM RIVER”

19" x 11" Watercolour picke@shaw.ca


The Sojourner’s Way © Cynthia Sharp written for “HIKING ALONG THE COQUITLAM RIVER” by artist Eileen Pick in the haven of silence I don’t have to carry everyone’s blind spots put some of it down let nirvana return fallen tree uprooted no more thunder, rain, time cherry petals in a sea of blue the swoosh of a sand stream emptied of unwanted current gentle mist beyond slow journeys the softness of wind in birch leaves heart of green earth breathing these afternoons before I go to forest only a tiny fraction makes it to the light but that fraction embodies all


ROBERT JOST “CLEARED FOR TAKE OFF” 11” x 14” Digital Photography


A Poem for Robert Jost “Cleared for Takeoff” © Tatiana A. Bobko written for “CLEARED FOR TAKE OFF” by artist Robert Jost

She landed Of all beauty she adores purple Says so much about her, for she is royalty Hard worker for a day or two Queen always Settling is not her forte Neither is nesting But here she finds peace Here she finds sustenance Here she finds comfort Here she found herself Herein lies her home No longer wanting to take off anywhere.


GAVIN SAWLE “FACE, OFF” 2’ x 3’ Acrylic on canvas nacondesign@gmail.com


After Viewing Gavin Sawle’s Painting “Face, Off” © d. n. simmers written for “FACE, OFF” by artist Gavin Sawle

We see the skin below and the raised eyes, nose and lips. Any face off means to deal with the situation brought out by another and dealing with it, a showdown. Each eye is a hard ball of colour. As if the emotions of love or hate are festering inside and looking out with fear, hatred or in love. The nose is vibrant and hot. A colour that goes to war or is pulsing in passion and the nostrils flare out like one who has run a race and now is at the end of the achievement. Lips red full of lust, fear or passion. as the body has been stripped down to most important and vibrant senses. Passion with or without love. Tenderness, as if the eyes were crying before and are red with tears and red and purple is the nose, from sobbing as the mouth and lips are going thorough excitement, and quivering in the flame of love, or newfound bewilderment or hatred of another being.


PENNY LIM "HBC" Hudson Bay logo, animal on snowshoes 11” x 14” Acrylic on canvas


The Key To Life © H. W. Bryce written for "HBC" by artist Penny Lim The key to Life is to return to its Source Through the tree-green mountains to the sky blue sky, Over the snow on Nature’s snow shoes To the River of Life, to launch a canoe And paddle back to The Beginning, There to bathe in the Eternal Waters Of everlasting Love – Peace with the Maker; To walk with Industrious Beaver for pleasure And chat, chin-wag, debate with Brother Fox The merits of morals and how to mend broken spirits, Thereby to live inspirational Poetry From whence you came, and to whence you return. The touchstone of life, the link to the Source, The spark of your soul, the guide to your course. May your sojourn down here on Earth Fulfill you with wonder and faith, That you might live a worthwhile life, Not just for you but for others, That you may not break the chain of eternal existence That links us person to person, soul to soul, Nor damage or break the path to the source In the continuum that is the circle of life. Paddle, paddle, paddle your canoe Paddle to the gods, your soul to renew, Paddle through life with your utmost of skill And you’ll paddle to Peace and lasting good will. PS: When you get there, can you send me a message? Post it via the Hudson’s Bay Company, from the Sage.


ELENA ZHUKOVA “WAITING SO LONG” 20’’x16’’ Acrylic on canvas


Blue © Lilija Valis written for “WAITING SO LONG” by artist Elena Zhukova Much of life is red so I seek blue I saw my town in flames – I was about 5 then – red words were thrown at me in foreign places – I lived in a city called The Future – red streets and blue music in basement dives people walked in shadow under a receding sky Red is a race car blue is a bird flying I love blue people red ones too hot for me – don’t want to fight or submit – a blue-eyed friend made me a necklace of silver and blue stones – the blues heals my heart – I’m happy walking along blue shores dotted with white homes set in gardens Yes, red lives in our blood blue takes us outside the body Eden is temporary eviction our lot I’m opening my life to the blue made of sky and water -- red love needs some blue to survive – harmony is wishes with windows – I’m letting in light, listening to the movement of water When red eventually closes down blue unfolds the universe.


DENTAL STRATEGY by Jerena Tobiasen

Ninety-one-year-old Archibald Urquhart shuffled into the dentist’s office behind his sixtyfive-year-old son, Archibald Junior or “Archie” for short. He could count on one hand how many times he had been to a dentist in his life. All they’re good for, he thought, is making the pain worse and costing money. “Sit here, Dad,” Archie said. “I’ll let the receptionist know we’re here.” Archibald lowered his lanky frame into a too-low guest chair, feeling his arthritic knees creak painfully. He sat, back rigid, looking for any excuse to leave, imagining himself leaping off the chair and racing out the door. “Don’t know why ye brought me ’ere,” he mumbled. “Ain’t gonna do no good.” Two minutes later, an attractive young woman bounced through the door that led into the dentist’s office. “Please follow me, Mr. Urquhart,” she said, smiling at the elderly man. Both men rose as quickly as they could, each groaning with the resistance of achy joints. “Will you be coming in too,” she asked, turning toward the younger man. “I think I should,” Archie said. “Unless you’d rather I wait out here.” He leaned toward the young woman and spoke quietly. “He can be difficult.” “This way then.” The young woman led them into a cubicle, invited Archibald to sit in the dental chair, and pointed toward the corner of the room, indicating a chair for Archie.


“Doctor will be with you shortly,” she said before turning on her heel and leaving them alone. “Good morning, Mr. Urquhart,” a cheery feminine voice said. Archibald twisted stiffly to peer over his shoulder toward the source of the voice, and was struck dumb by the owner’s beauty. “I’m Dr. MacTavish, and this – ” Dr. MacTavish cleared the way for a young man to step from behind her, “is my assistant Murray.” “Mr. Urquhart was me da,” Archibald snapped, caressing his right cheek protectively. “Call me Red.” Archie leaned forward, placing a hand on his father’s leg. “Get off me,” Archibald growled, flicking his leg. “Now, Dad, no need to be testy,” Archie said leaning into the chair upon which he sat. “The doctor only wants to help with that tooth.” “Don’t need help,” Archibald snapped again. Dr. MacTavish cast her eyes toward Murray, eyebrows raised. Ready for another one? The eyes asked. Murray shrugged. They knew that Archie had brought his father to their office for a reason: Dr. MacTavish had a reputation for dealing with crotchety old men. “Red.” The doctor said his name. Something in her tone seemed to settle him. “Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you.” Archie leaned forward again. “Shall I –” “Leave off, will ya?” Archibald spat as his son, not taking his eyes off Dr. MacTavish. “I know how to talk to a pretty lassie.” Still holding his right jaw protectively, Archibald explained that his tooth had been paining him for several months. When he had reached the point a few days prior that he could no longer


stand the pain, he asked his son to remove it. Archie had refused and insisted that his father visit the dentist instead. “Let’s have a look then,” Dr. MacTavish said. “Open wide.” The doctor gently prodded the area indicated by Archibald, causing him to wince as she poked the inflamated tissue. Below the hearing range of either Urquhart, she gave instructions to Murray. “Well, Red,” the doctor said a few minutes later. “You’re absolutely correct. The tooth needs to be extracted. Unfortunately, there’s not much left of it, and I doubt that Archie would have been able to help you. He was wise to bring you here.” Behind the chair, Murray hastily assembled the tools that the dentist would require to extract the remains of Archibald’s rotting tooth, while Dr. MacTavish lowered the chair until Archibald was supine. “Relax your hands, Red,” Dr. MacTavish said, lightly patting the white-knuckled fists wrapped around the ends of the chair’s arms. She went on to distract him, pointing out the artwork on the ceiling and asking him to don protective glasses, darkened against the ceiling lights, and headphones that played old-time tunes into Archibald’s ears. “Takes me back to when I was a wee laddie,” he told the dentist. “Those were the days.” A grin crept over the weathered face fringed with grizzled stubble. Dr. MacTavish lifted the headphone away from his ear. “I’d like you to relax, Red,” she said. “Open your mouth for me, ‘cause I have work to do, but you can close your eyes and just enjoyed the music. You may feel the odd tug or a pinch, but I’m sure it will be nothing compared to how you feel now.”


Archibald gazed into the dentist’s beautiful blue eyes, nodded and grinned. A moment later, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth. Dr. MacTavish examined Archibald’s mouth further, quickly determining what, if anything, could be done for the overall health of her patient’s mouth, as she dictated notes to Murray in a hushed voice. Then, sensing that Archibald had calmed enough for her to work, she set about the business of removing the defective tooth. Thirty-five minutes later, Dr. MacTavish removed the headphones and eye covering and rubbed Archibald’s arm. Her dozing patient snorted and licked his lips. His eyes remained closed. Gently, she rubbed his cheek. “Red,” she said. “Red – time to wake up!” Archibald snorted again and lazily opened his eyes. Dr. MacTavish asked him how he felt, but when he tried to answer his mouth felt heavy, as though filled with cotton. He raised his hand to his jaw. He knew it had to be there. He felt a pressure, but nothing more. “Wha’ happ’n?” he asked, hearing his voice sound peculiar to his own ears. His tongue felt thicker than it had after the worst hangover he had had when he was young and drank too much whiskey. “You took my instructions to heart,” the doctor said, giving the senior one of her signature smiles. “I asked you to relax, and you fell asleep. I wish all of my patients were so co-operative.” She asked him to open his mouth and he complied. “Everything looks good,” she said, and told him what to do for the next few hours while he waited for the freezing to come out. “I see that you’re missing several of your teeth, and the ones you have don’t look too healthy. However, if you’re willing to visit us a few more times, I think we can save them.” “An’ ith I don’?” The thickness of his tongue frustrated him.


“If you don’t,” she said, “they’ll all have to be pulled, then you’ll have none. Do you really want to be celebrating your ninety-second birthday with no teeth at all?” Archibald’s eyes widened. “You mean den-thurs?” he asked. “Yes, I mean dentures,” she said. She was smiling again. Archibald liked it when she smiled. It made him feel youthful. “Ith you snile li’ tha’ e’ly tine I cun,” he said, flirting with her, “I ’ill.” He gave her his most dashing smile, remembering how handsome he was in his youth, his hair the colour of copper and his eyes as green as the meadow. “I promise to smile every time you visit,” she said, her smile widening, reaching her eyes. She saw the right side of his jaw droop as he tried to smile in return, and watched his left hand slowly snake upward to slick back the few strands of copper and white hair that remained on his pate. His eyes disappeared into the wrinkles that framed his eyes, but she was certain she saw a glimmer of green earlier. “’ere’s me thon?” he asked as Dr. MacTavish helped him out of the chair. “Murray’s gone to fetch Archie,” she said. “He felt a little faint during the procedure, so I suggested that he wait outside. “Ye mean, we waz alone the hol tine?” Archibald’s face glowed when she nodded. As he walked past the dentist and into the waiting area, Archibald felt energy in his step, and tried to stand a little taller. “Wai’, thon,” he said, raising a hand to halt his approaching son. He stopped at the desk and aimed his lopsided smile at the receptionist. “I gonna nee’ nor ahoin’men’s!”

Dental Strategy copyright Jerena Tobiasen


WORK SHOP TALK

“I attended the Royal City Literary Arts Society’s workshop, The Art of the Response, facilitated by Shazia Hafiz Ramji, on June 30th. I very much enjoyed the comprehensive component of this workshop. Interactive and uplifting, Shazia brought our attention to the many different responses and connecting emotion we find within our experience/actions. We shared the fruits of our two free-write exercises and connected further in our roundtable discussion of the similarity of our emotional response to common experience; while Shazia showed us how to refine and build our inner response.

On behalf of the Board of Royal City Literary Arts and myself, thank you, Shazia, for an interesting and comprehensive view of the inner world of emotion, and how deeply it is connected to our response.”

- Deborah L. Kelly


Upcoming Events – Fall 2018 Info: secretary@rclas.com

DEADLINE REMINDER: OCT 1, 2018 FRED COGSWELL AWARD https://rclas.com/awards-contests/fred-cogswell-award/

Save the Date: Cogswell Award Presentation Sat Nov 24 Afternoon RCLAS presents “Tellers of Short Tales” Feature Author: Nasreen Pejvack Date: Wednesday Sept 12, 2018. Time: 6:00pm – 8:00pm, Free admission. Location: Anvil Centre, Room 413A, 777 Columbia Street, New Westminster Host: Lozan Yamolky Open Mic Sign Up available for writers who would like to share their stories. More info https://rclas.com/recurring/tellers-of-short-tales/ Description: A program of monthly readings designed to engage fans of the short story genre with emerging and published short story writers.

BIO: Nasreen Pejvack is a former Programmer/System Analyst and Counselor/Educator, who has worked in Ottawa, California, and Vancouver (1989 - 2014). Presently she is an author whose historical novel “Amity” was published by Inanna Publications in 2015. Amity was a finalist for BC’s 2016 Ethel Wilson Fiction Prize. https://bcbookprizes.ca/winners-finalists/2016-winners-finalists/#fiction Following Amity’s success, she is now here presenting short tales inspired by her experiences of life in Canada, “Paradise of the Downcasts.” She also has a book of poetry, “Waiting,” both published in 2018. Nasreen’s other hobby is the research, design, development and presentation of a variety of workshops on various aspects of our society. She was a judge for BC’s 2018 Ethel Wilson Fiction Prize and is a Past-President of Royal City Literary Arts Society (May 2016 – July 2018.)


RCLAS presents “In Their Words: A Royal City Reading Series” Date: Thursday, SEPT 20, 2018 Time: 6:00pm – 8:00pm, Free admission Location: Anvil Centre, Room 411A, 777 Columbia St, New Westminster Host: Ruth Kozak 3 Featured Readers: Leslie Hebert reads Denise Levertov (Poetry) Brie Wells reads from Leon Tolstoy's "War and Peace" (SheLa) Nefertiti Morrison reads Evelyn Lau (Poetry) Description: In Their Words happens on the 3rd Thursday of every other month. Feature speakers present their favourite author from any genre in poetry, fiction, non-fiction or drama. Presentations include a brief commentary about the author and a reading of selections that exemplify what the presenter loves about the author’s work. A short Q&A follows each presenter. RCLAS Writing Workshop: “Travel Writing – Around the World and from Your Own Back Yard!” Facilitator: Marylee Stephenson Reserve your spot: secretary@rclas.com Date: Saturday SEPTEMBER 29, 2018 Time: 1:30pm – 3:30pm Location: Anvil Centre, Room 417, 777 Columbia Street, New Westminster Workshop Fees: RCLAS Members $15/Non-members $25 Pay via Paypal here: https://rclas.com/workshops/ Description: The workshop is open to travellers of all kinds – whether those traversing the world or those who travel near home, using their eyes, wearing beat-up runners, peering at the landscape and humanscape as they meander along. Participants may be writing about past travels, but those planning a trip are equally welcome. We will consider what to keep in mind for getting the most out of writing about that trip. Should they do some background research? What kind of notes should be taken – if any? What about drawing, painting, photographing? And this is true for world travellers or neighbourhood adventurers.


The main objective of this workshop is for participants to create a segment (or completed) account of a travel experience, an account that says what they want to say in the way they want to say it. Starting from wherever the participant is in terms of skills and experience of travel writing, they will have sharpened the clarity, organization, and reader appeal of their work. This will be done in a friendly, informal, collaborative environment, with the guidance of an experienced writer who understands the uneasiness and doubts that can come along with writing. Travel writing actually is a story-telling exercise, overall. There will be three ways we will do this. One is that participants will talk about their travel – probably a specific trip – as we get acquainted and off and on during the workshop sessions. Participants may also bring some writing they may have already done and will be reading out parts of what they are working on in the workshop. Then there is the writing itself. As a group, we will consider one or more ways to write about the travels, always keeping in mind the goals for the writing, and the comfort level the writer has with particular styles, lengths, formats, etc. It’s assumed that participants have basic skills in computer use, but if someone does not, plain ol’ handwriting if fine! Next there is the visual, or even audio, aspect of the writing. So much travel writing incorporates pictures and there is more and more use of audio. This is not a “techie” workshop, but we will want to explore how these modes could help make the story-telling as a whole truly “work.”

Bio: Marylee Stephenson, Ph.D. (sociology) is an active writer of natural-history related travel adventures. She authored a guidebook to the National Parks of Canada (3 editions, 3 languages) and the third edition of her guide to the Galapagos Islands and Ecuador recently was published by Mountaineers Books of Seattle. She has written numerous articles in newspapers and magazines. She taught a Continuing Studies course on the Galapagos Islands for the SFU Lifelong Learning series. She is a busy story-teller around town, as well, sometimes talking about her travels, based on her writings. ...and a reminder for all you poets and poetry lovers: “Poetic Justice/Poetry New West” Sunday Afternoons (except Holiday Weekends) Time: 2:00pm – 4:00pm, Free admission. Location: The Heritage Grill, Backstage Room, 447 Columbia St, New West Description: Two Featured poets and Open Mic. Admission is free but donations are welcomed. For information visit https://www.facebook.com/groups/poeticjusticepnw/ and https://www.facebook.com/groups/215251815176114/ Email poeticjusticepnw@gmail.com


Mark Your Calendars: Please watch for event updates and news via our website, and social media accounts (Facebook, Twitter and Instagram) RCLAS presents “Tellers of Short Tales” All Open Mic “Halloween” Edition Date: Thursday October 18, 2018. Time: 6:00pm – 8:00pm, Free admission. Location: Anvil Centre, Rm 417 RCLAS Writing Workshop: “Using Tarot in Your Writing” Facilitator: Isabella Mori Date: Saturday October 27, 2018 Time: 1:30pm – 3:30pm Location: Anvil Centre, Rm 417 RCLAS presents “Wordplay New West” Coming in the fall. Watch for the next installment of our writing prompt group. RCLAS presents “Tellers of Short Tales” Featuring Author Chelene Knight Date: Thursday November 8, 2018. Time: 6:00pm – 8:00pm, Free admission. Location: Anvil Centre, Rm 411B RCLAS presents “In Their Words: A Royal City Reading Series” Date: Thursday, Nov 15, 2018 Time: 6:00pm – 8:00pm, Free admission Location: Anvil Centre, Rm 411B Host: Ruth Kozak Send a note to secretary@rclas.com if you are interesting in reading at a future installment of In Their Words. RCLAS Writing Workshop: “Developing Creativity by Playing (and Ending the battle with Perfectionism)” Facilitator: Tatiana A. Bobko Date: Saturday November 17, 2018 Time: 1:30pm – 3:30pm Location: Anvil Centre, Room 413A Save the Date RCLAS presents “Fred Cogswell Award for Excellence in Poetry Awards Presentation” (Watch for more details to be announced) Date: Saturday November 24, 2018 Location: Anvil Centre Time: 2:30pm - 4:30pm


WORDPLAY AT WORK FEEDBACK & E-ZINE SUBMISSIONS

Janet Kvammen, RCLAS Vice-President/E-zine Submit Word documents WITH YOUR NAME and Title on document to janetkvammen@rclas.com General Inquiries: Lozan Yamolky secretary@rclas.com

RCLAS Members Open Call for Submissions No theme required to submit. October 2018 Issue Deadline Sept 15 Halloween Tribute to a Dead Poet Nov 2018 Issue Deadline Oct 15 Remembrance Day/Peace Themes to consider include: Fraser River Form Poetry Nature Poetry, Short Stories, Book excerpts, articles & lyrics are all welcome for submission.


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Thank you to our Sponsors & Venues 

City of New Westminster

Anvil Centre

Arts Council of New Westminster

New Westminster Public Library

The Network Hub

The Heritage Grill

See upcoming events at www.rclas.com

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September 2018 Wordplay at work ISSN 2291- 4269 Contact: janetkvammen@rclas.com RCLAS Vice-President/ E-zine


SEPT 2018 RCLAS Wordplay at Work, Issue 56  

SEPT 2018 RCLAS Wordplay at Work Issue 56 ISSN 2291- 4269, 83 pages. Including upcoming RCLAS events and workshops, & Cogswell Award Deadli...

SEPT 2018 RCLAS Wordplay at Work, Issue 56  

SEPT 2018 RCLAS Wordplay at Work Issue 56 ISSN 2291- 4269, 83 pages. Including upcoming RCLAS events and workshops, & Cogswell Award Deadli...

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